


Socks

by besettelse



Category: Political RPF - US 20th c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Billary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besettelse/pseuds/besettelse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1998; Bill and Hillary struggle to repair their damaged relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

Socks. He had forgotten his socks. Bill mentally kicked himself. Hillary had been screaming hysterically at him, and in his hurry to pack a bag, he had forgotten his socks _and,_ it seemed, his toothbrush. He sighed and stopped walking.  
The Secret Service agents flanking him stopped as well.  
“Something wrong, sir?”  
“I left my socks.”  
“Would you like me to retrieve them, sir?”  
“No thanks, Bradford. I won’t put you through that. Just take this to the Lincoln bedroom, please.” Bill handed the agent his duffel bag and turned around. 

Truth be told, Bill was nervous. Not about the yelling—he could handle that. He didn’t want to face what he had done. Hillary was so strong and resolute, but he knew that she was hurt. He had broken the bond of trust that they had shared for almost 23 years, and he wasn’t especially anxious to look his misdeeds in the face. 

He opened the door to their bedroom cautiously, bracing himself for the shouting to begin. Silence. The lights were off. Bill breathed a sigh of relief. Quickly, he grabbed his toothbrush from the bathroom counter. His socks were in a drawer in the closet, at the very back. He opened the closet door and was startled to find Hillary sitting on the floor, crying. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her head was in her hands. 

At the sound of the closet door opening, she jerked her head up, and Bill was dismayed at the sight of her mascara-stained cheeks.  
“Hill…” He trailed off. He knew she was upset with him, but he’d never seen her like this before.  
“What do you want?” She asked, sharply, wiping her eyes.  
“I forgot to pack socks.” He smiled sheepishly.  
She rolled her eyes and, with a sniffle, she tried to push past him. He grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving. “Hillary—“ 

“Don’t.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Get your socks and get out of here.”  
He put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye.  
“Bill, _stop_ it, let me go!” 

Suddenly, he was wrapping his arms around her, enveloping her in a tight hug. He expected her to struggle; to try and push him away, but she didn’t. In fact, she went limp, collapsing into his embrace.  
_“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."_ He whispered into her ear. She began to sob, burying her face in his chest. They stood there, locked in one another’s embrace for hours, it seemed; Bill murmuring apologies over and over, and Hillary crying quietly. 

Eventually, they found themselves on the floor of the closet. Hillary’s sobs had faded to deep, shaky breaths. Neither of them spoke. Bill sat with his back against Hillary’s shoe rack, and she was curled up beside him with his arm was around her.  
Her head was on his shoulder and one hand rested on his chest. He reached for her hand, intertwining it with his, and marveled at how beautiful and delicate her fingers were. 

She looked up at him, and her wide, teary eyes nearly broke his heart.  
“Aren’t I enough?”  
“Of course you are. You _are._ I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I don’t deserve you.” His voice broke. “I love you so much, Hill.”  
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and made it’s way down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb and let his hand linger for a moment on her cheek.  
“I _love_ you, Hillary.”  
She pushed his hand away and he didn’t try to touch her again. She almost wished that he would. 

As angry as she was with him, he was still the one person that could make her feel better. What he had done to her was disgusting and disloyal, and it cut her like a knife. But, despite everything, she still loved him. Somewhere, inside of him, was the man that she fell in love with—the man that she had built a life with. She still loved him. But was that enough?

They sat on the floor of the closet for a long time, neither one of them speaking. It was almost comforting for Hillary that, after everything, they could just sit there with one another; that they could just _be._

After a while, Bill drifted off to sleep. Hillary had always loved to watch him when he slept. It was like all the stress simply melted away, and he was that young, vibrant boy again. The boy she fell in love with in law school.  
She reached up and caressed his face, cradling his cheek in her hand.  
She traced the outline of his mouth with her fingertips. In a strange moment of spontaneity, she kissed him softly on the lips.  
“I love you, Bill.” 

Walking to the back of the closet, Hillary reached into one of the drawers and pulled something out. She placed it on the floor beside him and, with a sad smile, she slipped out of the closet, turning out the light, and closing the door quietly behind her.

Bill woke up a while after she left. He yawned and stood up, fumbling around in the dark for the light switch. As light flooded the room, he noticed something lying on the floor of the closet. He walked over and picked up the soft cotton bundle that Hillary had left beside him. 

It was a pair of socks.


End file.
